


twisting in the water (you're just like a dream)

by unspecified (modernscience)



Series: Meandering through (until I find you) [7]
Category: Fashion Model RPF, Karlie Kloss - Fandom, Kaylor - Fandom, Taylor Swift (Musician)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Vignettes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-12
Updated: 2016-04-12
Packaged: 2018-06-01 19:49:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6534103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/modernscience/pseuds/unspecified
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>it gets easier. and then it gets okay. and then it feels like freedom.</em>
</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Kaylor on the way to being domestic</p>
            </blockquote>





	twisting in the water (you're just like a dream)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm somewhat apprehensive about posting this because out of all the AUs and stories I've written, this one is closest to reality. Do take note that this is purely fictional and is something that sprung from my imagination (with the helping hand of a tabloid headline).

The Clearblue stick screams at you from the other side of the door — two blue strips permanently etched on one end — leaving you frozen on the spot. Her hand shakes as she shows it to you and behind it, a look on her face you’ve never seen before.

 

She storms past you into your living room and slams herself on your couch, the stick recklessly thrown on the coffee table as she looks to the ceiling for resolution. Your brain finally works again, reminding you to close the door.

 

“What do you want me to say?” It sounds stupid as you hear it out loud, but in your defense her expression doesn’t exactly grant her a squeal of congratulations and balloons, and anyway you know her better than that.

 

“I don’t know.”

 

You sit next to her, place your hand on her thigh before tapping it twice — an established signal of reassurance. She rests her head on your shoulder, and you feel the warmth of her tears soon after.

 

* * *

 

Tree loses her shit, of course.

 

She's hasn’t stopped making calls to give out carefully worded statements, complete with an occasional tantrum or two. You've heard her say the same thing over and over again that you have it memorized by now: "Taylor is excited about the prospect of becoming a parent and she cannot wait to embark on this joyous adventure.” “What kind of question is that? We both know he’s out of thefucking picture… No, that’s not that I’m saying…" "Well we don’t speak for Mr. Harris, you’ll have to get a comment from his rep.”

 

The fiery redhead is pacing back and forth between the kitchen and the living room, frequently sneaking to grab some of the freshly baked cookies you’ve originally prepared for yourself and Taylor earlier. "She’s stress eating,” she whispers in your ear, and you let out a muffled giggle.

 

“This is the first time I’ve seen it with my own eyes. I know you’ve told me about it, but…”

 

“Now you know I’m not spewing lies.”

 

“Mm hmm.”

 

You shift your gaze towards her belly as she gently places her hand on top of it, caressing the bump that’s barely visible to your untrained eyes, and for some reason it only makes it all the more surreal. You’ve seen your friends carry a child before, sure. Even though you know them well there’s always an impermeable distant feel to it; one minute they’re excitedly calling you over the phone to tell you the news, the next you'd see photos of them with their growing belly on Instagram. By the time you meet them again, their own version of mini-mes would usually tag along and you would coo over how ridiculously adorable they all are. This time it’s completely different. It’s happening to someone who lives practically next door, who you've known since your early 20s, who would drop by and make an agenda to water plants together just so you can have a bit of a chit chat, who called you at 3 am last month, devastation dripping over her voice as she told you what had happened, who — to your knowledge — as of a mere 48 hours ago _wasn’t_ carrying a child. It’s too much to comprehend; you’re not sure if either of you had let it sunk in yet. You catch that glimpse of worry across her face again, only this time it’s gone as soon as you hear Tree walks in. You both look up.

 

“That’s all of them, I believe.”

 

She doesn’t say anything, so you step in. “Thank you, Tree.”

 

“Just doing my job.”

 

* * *

 

Her first ultrasound was on a Sunday morning and you went to the doctor’s office with her.

 

It looks like a football — or an emu egg? — though you don’t tell her this. On the computer screen, a spot rhythmically blinks along with the ferocious _thump thump thump_ echoing in the room. The nurse gives her an enthusiastic smile and tells her everything looks fine and that there’s nothing to worry about. “Baby’s doing great.”

 

She squeezes your hand, the smile in her eyes twinkles with tears. Shivers run down your spine and spreads throughout your entire body, your heart feels so full you swear it's at its breaking point. It's odd, feeling like this for a fetus that's not your own, but you instantly brush it off — who wouldn't be proud to be a first time parent? Or, in your case, to be a first time parent’s best friend?

 

“Can we have a sonogram photo?” It’s out of your mouth before you can stop yourself, the word _we_ turns your cheeks a blushing shade of pink with embarrassment.

You thought you see her smile grows tenfold from the corner of your eyes, though it could just be your mind playing tricks. The nurse tells you it’ll be ready once the doctor is finished with his examination.

 

* * *

 

When you kiss her, it’s a cool rainy day in May.

 

She’s laying on the couch with her head on your lap, lazily fluttering her fingers up and down your arm, fingertips barely grazing on the surface of your skin. You don’t tell her how your stomach flips with every ghost of her touch, how it takes every shred of restraint you have to keep your eyes focused on what the narrator is saying on tv. Your mind, on the other hand, is anywhere but.

 

“Are you okay?” her words snaps you into attention. “You look… weird.”

 

“I’m fine.”

 

She swiftly changes her position, shifting her body so she wouldn’t squish her ever growing belly, and cups your face with both her hands. The documentary is well forgotten now as her blue eyes pierce into your green ones; to be honest you weren’t even paying attention in the slightest. You return the favor by sticking your tongue out and raising your eyebrows to mask the butterflies in your stomach; wishing fervently that it would go away, that it'd be enough to distract her, but she’s nothing if not persistent, and she sits there, unflinching, unwavering. The quiet voice inside your head only grows louder with every passing second — _now. now. now. now. now._ She scoots herself closer, her breath now hot against your face and you feel your whole body screaming with want. When you finally close the gap and meet her lips with yours, it’s heaven.

 

* * *

 

You’re in an empty hallway and there’s only a faint flicker of light that seems to get further and further away the more you walk. Your mind tells you to run and chase it and your upper body is ready to lunge forward, but your feet feels like it’s shackled to a ball and chain, leaving you paralyzed. Concrete walls are closing in from the sides and the light gets further and further away until it’s completely gone. You feel the scream pooling in your throat and you open your mouth with a fervent urgency but nothing comes out, not even a whimper. It starts as a light touch that very quickly becomes a crushing pinch against your shoulders; _finally_ , a low guttural sound escapes your mouth before your eyes shoot open. Air penetrates your lungs like you've been suffocated and this is the first time you've breathed in a long time. Your hand instinctively reach for the sleeping figure next to you as your brain tries to readjust itself into reality.

 

She stirs the moment your fingers rest on her shoulder and you immediately regret forgetting that she's become a light sleeper these days. "Karlie?"

 

"Oh. Sorry, did I wake you?"

 

"What's wrong? Are you okay?"

 

"Nothing. Bad dream." You try to dismiss her worried tone by adding a faint smile, but she wasn't convinced.

 

"You sure?"

 

"Yeah. Go back to sleep."

 

Her palm feels warm against your cheek and you reach for her wrist, clinging onto it and trying your best not to drown. The dream still feels too real and it bothers you more than you care to admit, but she touches the tip of your nose with her index finger — _tap tap_ — and mirrors your scrunch with a playful smile. It amazes you, still, how such a simple gesture feels like home.

 

"Love you."

 

"Love you, too."

 

* * *

 

He was born on an unusually hot day in September, 7 pounds and 2 ounces of shining blonde hair, ten little fingers curled up into a fist as he cries and cries and cries, and two tiny feet kicking in the air while he filled his lungs with air for the first time.

 

You almost faint in the delivery room at the sight of the tools laying on the table next to the doctor at the other end of the bed, and she pulled on your gown before every big push you're sure that it's almost ripped, but you held it together. The nurse placed him on her shoulder and he fits into the curve between her neck and clavicle like a glove, his hand just peeking through from the loose swaddle covering his body. You draped your arm around her shoulder, pulled her close and kissed the top of her head, wondering if you've ever felt this happy before. Everything you thought you know about life and love has been turned upside down in the best possible way.

 

* * *

 

They attend your graduation in January, tall figure with cherry lips and blonde hair with a sleeping 4-month old in a Bjorn sticking out like a sore thumb among the sea of people. There are groups whispering to each other with their eyes fixated on her but you don't mind as her eyes are only on you.

 

The dean calls your name, and your friends erupts in cheers as you walk on stage. “Congratulations, Ms. Kloss.”

 

“Thank you, Sir.”

 

“You must be busy these days, with a new baby and all.”

 

“Yeah. Not complaining, though.”

 

He hands you your diploma and you make it a point to give her a wave before going down. The baby is still sleeping, blissfully unaware and undisturbed by the loud noises, bless his soul. She’s beaming with pride, taking multiple pictures of you with her phone and give you a thumbs up in reply.

 

You run to her once the obligatory photo taking has finished and wrap her in a side hug, careful not to squish the baby. Her arm clings on to your waist as she looks up to meet your gaze, blue eyes shines brighter than you’ve ever seen, and the urge you feel to kiss her overpowers all your common sense. So you did. It’s soft and quick and over in a second, a promise of something meaningful in the future; the kind of kiss you know you’re going to have for the rest of your life. You’ve never been certain of anything else in life before, but you’re certain about this. And that’s enough.

**Author's Note:**

> I have another "magazine interview" fic in line with this story, but I'm still not sure whether to post it as a second chapter or a separate part. Feel free to let me know in the comments.
> 
> PS: if anyone wants to follow my kaylor blog, it's [here](http://moderngalpals/tumblr.com)


End file.
